


you lived for that distorted view

by divinefortitudebreaker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinefortitudebreaker/pseuds/divinefortitudebreaker
Summary: The Warrior of Light allowed herself to cry.
Relationships: Fray Myste/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 11





	you lived for that distorted view

**Author's Note:**

> (title from "You're an Ace, Kid" by DEMONDICE)
> 
> hey this is super self-indulgent i just love the idea of having a cool sexy self care ghost in your soul

Placing a palm against the door frame, a woman slowly twisted the door’s handle and silently pushed it closed. As the door shut, she sighed, shrugging off the piece of armor perched on her shoulder. The metal hit the ground with a clang, no doubt adding another dent to the myriad of battle scars across the dull cobalt. 

The woman unbuckled the armor shielding her forearms and began to peel off her gloves. She turned to her own scars; years of wounds that never quite healed, of reckless days when she had no understanding of self-preservation.

Thoughts of her youth were not fond memories- yet I’m not old, right?, she wondered. I have grown older, perhaps, but it wasn’t too long ago that-

She shook her head. Loneliness always began creeping in after the longest days, the toughest fights. Despite the countless adventurers she had met, that offered help to her when she was in need, despite the friends- friends, huh- who fought with her, drank with her, held her and cared for her, was she anything more than the stray who forced herself into the first seemingly welcoming group with a warm fire and heavy blankets to fend off the cold? 

They weren’t seemingly welcoming. They liked me. They wanted me around. No matter how many times she repeated the phrase, it never sounded right. She liked me. She cared for me. She loved me back. 

She loved me back. But sometimes, the woman wasn’t sure. Was she anything more to the other than a nagging child? And did she herself have true feelings of love, or did she just cling onto someone who showed her the right way to grip her sword, the right way to fend for herself against blades and arrows and gusts of magic- and against that bitter, bitter cold?

Without realizing it, her train of thought had made her more aggressive. She yanked apart the brooch at her throat- no doubt tearing the leather of her collar- she barely noticed, and if she did, she wouldn’t have cared. 

Throwing more and more pieces of her ensemble to the ground, she let out a low noise of frustration. Why did she have to wear layers upon layers of ruffles and gold? What had happened to the girl in the canvas shirt hanging off her shoulders- too loose for the thin frame of a body that had eaten too little? What had happened to the young woman who, when gifted her first set of chain mail and plated armor, had all too eagerly bloodied the metal?

She wasn’t- couldn’t be- her old self anymore. All because of her gift (which was really more of a curse); because she had the Echo, she had been too different. Too loved. Too hated. Too much of what everyone happened to need. The person to do everyone’s work that they were too weak to do themselves.

She was simply a poor girl seeking vengeance for the death of her friends (who, the more she thought about it, didn’t really feel the same, did they). But somehow, along the way, she had fallen- she was still falling- down the path of a Warrior of Light. (It was less of a path, she supposed, and more of a hole with no end.)

It was like she was placed on a pedestal in front of millions. Once word spread of her, everyone who needed even the most menial of tasks completed rushed to her for help- and for what? Just to brag to their neighbors about the strong, powerful hero who stopped to clear their way?

Her clothes strewn about on the inn room floor, she finally stopped to clear her mind. She had taken a road, no matter how unwillingly, and it was her fate to follow until the end. Standing there, she took her first deep breath of the day. Many things had gone wrong, and still were, but she wasn’t lonely. Her few friends (true friends, she added), all offered words and helping hands, reminding her that she wasn’t alone.

And even when they weren’t by her, she still wasn’t alone.

Eyes closed, she clenched her hand into a first, raising her arm. A shadow slowly rose from the floor, forming the shape of a body eerily similar to her own. She dropped her arm and drew in a heavy, shaking breath. Standing before her was herself; more accurately, the part of her that she had learned to control. Fray, Esteem, Myste; her soul had many names and forms, but she preferred when it took her own. 

She lifted a hand and gently touched her nose, her cheeks, her lips. Her fingertips hovered over her eyes; her eyes, the same slight tilt, the same thick lashes, but a deep red rather than her own, lighter, hue.

The dark knight reached out her hand and grasped the warrior's own. The same trimmed nails, the same slender fingers. However, the woman noticed, on the other's hand, there were none of the calluses adorning her palm from days, from years, of gripping her claymore, of cutting flesh. That's right, she thought. She is not truly me. She is my mentor, my partner, but she isn't real.

As if reading her thoughts, because of course she could, the warrior bitterly laughed to herself, the dark knight brought the captive hand to her chest. 

"That may be so," the same voice, the voice that the warrior herself spoke in, to agree to every menial task placed upon her. "You may be right, but I am always with you. I cannot always be by your side, but I am here," Still not releasing the callused hand, the dark knight moved it to the warrior's own breast. "I am here, when it matters, when you need me."

The warrior elected to say nothing. Lost for words, she could only grip the fabric of her underclothes. When her shadow loosened her hand, as if she would release it, the woman brought her other hand on top, keeping it there, holding her. 

Minutes passed by as the two stood together, engulfed in the encroaching darkness coming through the window. Although proof of passing time came through the window, no sound was able to enter the room. The only breach of silence was the soft breathing of the two women. One deep, shaking breath, and another, a whisper that was barely there.

Finally, the warrior dropped her hands, separating the pair. She finally let herself relax; the weight of her responsibility had been her center of gravity, and once lifted, she dropped to her knees, palms pressed against the floor, head hanging low. Her shadow knelt beside her, and with her left hand, the dark knight brushed soft bangs off of her partner’s face, resting her hand along the curve of her jawline. When the dark knight tilted the warrior’s chin upwards, her eyes met glassy, shining tears.

“I understand.” 

Upon hearing those words, the Warrior of Light allowed herself to cry. 

Too long had she kept to herself, pretending that nothing could break her. No one else had experienced what she had, so how could they even begin to comfort her? No one could feel those same years of anguish she had, so she foolishly believed that she was able to take on the world alone. 

Hot tears streamed down her face between hiccuping breaths and rough sobs. As she raised her arm to wipe away her tears, she felt strong arms pulling her in, guiding her to rest on a shoulder. A gentle hand brushed through her hair as another sob wracked through her body. 

She cried until she felt she had no energy left for tears or sounds of pain. She lifted her head, slowly, her gaze landing upon her shadow’s face. 

“...” 

The warrior wanted to say something, perhaps a thank you, but nothing came out. The dark knight, knowing perfectly the mannerisms of her partner, smiled and pressed a finger to her lips, a way of saying you don’t need to speak. 

“Close your eyes.”

What normally would sound like a command came out as a gesture of kindness. The warrior obeyed, her dark eyelashes fluttering together. A gentle kiss pressed to each eyelid, one more stroke through her hair, when suddenly, she felt the presence of the room change. 

She opened her eyes, slowly, reluctantly, and saw empty space in front of her, fading clouds and swirling shadows the only sign that another had been there.


End file.
